Mirrors
by ScarredNotBroken
Summary: Alex had taken one look at himself in the mirror and had sent his fist straight into the glass. /Warning: PTSD-related content - nothing terribly descriptive


**A/N:** A long while back, before I created a blog on tumblr, I saw a post with someone wondering about how long it would take before Alex could look in the mirror again after the events of _Scorpia Rising._ So I wrote this little drabble-thing (okay, not drabble; it's too long for that but…) in an attempt to beat out writers' block and also get back into writing for the AR fandom. (*cough* Why, yes, I am working on my _Narnia_ fic, why do you ask? *shifty eyes*) Originally thought about submitting this to _alexriderbigbang_ for them to publish in January, but honestly I dunno if this would have been worth submitting so I'm not, but here it is anyway… Also, this would probably take a bit of a different timetable from _Never Say Die; NSD_ could still happen, but later than a month later probably…

Very much inspired by Mike Shinoda's _Nothing Makes Sense Anymore._

(This turned out nothing like how I planned, but oh well.) ConCrit welcomed here (but please be nice because I spewed this out in a few hours and it's largely unedited!).

 _Originally posted to my tumblr, sojouner-between-worlds._

 **Warning:** PTSD-related content – nothing majorly descriptive

* * *

Edward Pleasure sometimes wondered if they'd done the right thing by taking Alex Rider in, but he was always quick to banish the thought. Of course it had been the right thing. Alex had nowhere else to go, and at least with them, he didn't have to pretend. Edward had hoped the teenager would be able to put everything behind him and start over new, like his family had, but, with every passing day, he wondered if Alex would ever be able to move forward. Some days he seemed to do okay – he got up, and ate everything they put in front of him, and hung out with Sabina and her friends in what was left of summer vacation. On others, he was moody at best, picking at his food and snapping at everyone. And on still others, he just seemed…stuck. Edward would catch him staring at the wall for hours on end, his eyes empty and a blank expression on his face, and the man knew he wasn't all there, but he didn't know quite what to do about it. He'd suggested therapy from the very beginning, but Alex had been adamant: "I can't talk about it, so what's the point?" And Edward knew he had a point; after all, that was one of the reasons he and his family were the best fit for Alex – because he could talk to them without hiding anything.

But he didn't talk. At all. He would answer questions directed at him, but he was otherwise silent. So it wasn't surprising that he didn't talk about what happened in Cairo – or any of his other missions – either. It was obvious that Alex wanted to forget about it all, but at the same time it seemed he hadn't yet been able to completely put it behind him. _Maybe with time_ , Edward convinced himself; _maybe with enough time, he'll be okay again._

A few weeks after he'd come to stay with them, school started. That was perfect; school was _normal_ , after all.

Edward glanced up from his newspaper as Sabina and Alex came into the kitchen for breakfast. "Good morning." He did a double take. "Alex?"

The teen looked up at him. "Yes?"

"You might want to fix your hair before you leave," he chuckled. It was still damp from the shower but was already sticking up in odd directions. They had let him get away with it up until now because it didn't matter as much during the summer. But during the school year? That wasn't going to fly.

Alex reached up, feeling for the errant strands with a frown on his face. "Maybe I should just get it cut," he muttered. He ate quickly then excused himself to go back upstairs.

Not more than a few minutes had passed between Alex leaving the table and the sound of breaking glass from the second floor bathroom.

Edward leapt to his feet, fearing the worst, his wife and daughter not far behind. He raced up the steps and rounded the corner. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Alex was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, face pale, surrounded by shards of broken glass. His knuckles were split open and bloody. And he was silently _crying_.

Oh.

Oh dear.

It took only a moment for Edward to piece together what had happened: Alex had taken one look at himself in the mirror and had sent his fist straight into the glass. Mrs Jones had told him a little of what had happened in Cairo; he should have known better. He turned and shoo'd out the two women behind him. The less of an audience the better. He had already put his shoes on, so he moved over the glass to crouch down in front of Alex.

Alex flinched away, his eyes never leaving the same spot on the floor.

Edward never would have thought a mirror could be such a dangerous object.


End file.
